


Heart on the Coals

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Derek doesn't like it when Stiles isn't where he should be, M/M, Mates, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mpreg, Possessive Derek, Protective Derek, Stiles is too tasty for his own good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 05:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fire which destroyed nearly all of the Hales, a new pack was formed with an Alpha by the name of Scott McCall. Soon, though, the two Hales return to Beacon Hills, equip with a pack of their own, and ready to take back their land.</p><p>Enter Stiles, who does what he always does: gets caught in the crossfire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart on the Coals

**Author's Note:**

> (Title from 'Ghosts that We Knew'. Five points if you catch the reference towards the end. And minus three hundred if you've ever been Wolverine for Halloween.)
> 
> BRIEF BACKSTORY:
> 
> Derek is not consumed by guilt because he is not, actually, the one who was seduced by Katherine Argent. Laura Hale was, and so the Hale house burnt, leaving Derek as the new Alpha. He flees with Peter, who actually isn't scarred by burns and twisted irrevocably. 
> 
> Meanwhile, Kate survives long enough to find a rogue Alpha. She is bitten, and manages to kill it before she turns, the rage at being bitten and the transportation of the crazed Alpha's mindset into her wound drive her just as crazy. She bites Scott, and brings a pack of teenagers together. With Stiles's plan, they trap her and Scott kills her, becoming an Alpha himself, but not before Kate inflicts plenty of damage.
> 
> Derek and Peter return, finding the three other teenagers from somewhere. They are clever enough to remain undetected while researching the McCall pack members. Enter story itself.

It was really kind of annoying to keep waking up tied to a chair, Stiles thought, stretching and feeling pain blossom in his wrists. Especially when he came to negotiate with the Hales. _Terrible idea,_ he mentally noted. _Really fucking bad idea._

But it was better him than Scott. Better him than the pack. He opened his eyes and smiled with a grim kind of ownership. He would get free and escape, or at least keep occupied until Scott and the pack came. He observed the room: likely a small bunker with the lack of windows and one door. He rattled his ties, checking to see if they were loose.

He heard footsteps. Freezing his attempt to check the restraints and free himself, he straightened and waited stonily. After a beat, the door opened. “Hello there, Stiles,” the man said, shadowed. “Tired? Can I get you anything?” A flash of white—the man was smiling. That was either good or bad.

“Okay, you know my name, not creepy at all. Can I get out of here?” Stiles asked, getting a feel for the man’s demeanor. Multiple kidnappings had taught him what to do to get less violence inflicted upon himself. If smartasses pleased him, Stiles was home free. The white returned. He was amused by Stiles.

“’Fraid not, boy,” the man said. “You’re a mate. You’re worth _far_ too much to let go.” He moved toward Stiles, caressing his cheek. Stiles imagined Scott’s reaction to this man’s—wolf’s?—scent of him. Protectiveness had made Scott demand Stiles’s skin carrying only Scott’s scent.

“Wolf?” Stiles asked thoughtfully, feeling the scent soak into his pores, and he felt a wave of _something_ wash over him, not _disgust_ , per se, and he was confused. How long had he been unconscious—what had happened?

“Smart boy,” the man smirked, and let his eyes bleed red. “An Alpha without a mate is nearly useless in the face of one with one. You are a rarity. My pack and I could benefit exceedingly from you. I’ll wait until your Alpha is returned and then…”

“You’ll kill him,” Stiles said flatly. It wasn’t the first time, no, but it had always been rogue hunters, or rogue wolves… never a sane (or insane) Alpha with a plan. And a pack.

“Clever boy,” the Alpha said appreciatively. “See what I’m telling you? McCall’s grown soft. He needs to be quieted and he doesn’t deserve this _jewel_ of a mate.” He punctuated this by murmuring in Stiles’s ear. “And when he’s dead, pup, rest assured I will claim and treasure you. Pup, you will be _worshipped_.” He nipped on Stiles’s ear, lapping up the bead of blood that welled.

Stiles shivered. “I don’t want to be worshipped,” Stiles answered, trying to put on a brave face. This was new territory, for God’s sake. He had been held as bait, had been attacked for running with the wolves, but he hadn’t heard of this. “I want you to let me go and leave.”

“Aw, pup, you’re scared,” he cooed, his hand stroking Stiles’s cheekbone absently.

“Stiles,” Stiles corrected. “It’s Stiles, even though I _know_ you know.”

“I’m the Alpha,” he said, grinning. “Derek works just as well.” He smirked again, turning away, pulling out a cellphone, thumb still pressed against Stiles’s check. “Peter,” he barked. “Recon?”

Stiles could barely hear a voice. “McCall’s frantic. He’s struggling not to shift and it’s triggering the others. Thus far, I’ve seen three wolves, two humans. Three if you count the boy. The Argent girl is trying to calm McCall down, but the redhead—Martin—is ordering the other wolves about.”

“We don’t count the boy,” Derek snapped. “Need I go and deal with McCall? Or can you take him? And bring him _in_. The rest are useless. They’re dispensable—”

“No!” Derek stopped his slow sweeps over his cheek. “I’ll… I’ll behave if you don’t kill them. Anything. Just don’t kill them. Please.”

“Peter,” Derek said simply. “Bring them in too. Grab the pack to help.” He shut the phone, turning his head to regard Stiles. “Behave, pup? I’d think such a thing is foreign to you. He smiled slowly, predatorily.

Stiles swallowed, and Derek’s eyes tracked the movement, opening his mouth to reveal elongated canines. But his phone rang again. “What, Peter?” he snarled, hand resting protectively on Stiles’s collarbone. “I am _busy_.” Stiles listened closely, but all he heard was _“got them”_ , the rest muffled.

“Jesus. We’ll make sure they know what they’ve done, Peter. Careful.” He hung up again, eyes glowing faint crimson. “Where’d McCall get enough power to injure _Peter_ , of all people?”

Stiles shook his head, secretly a little pleased that Scott had surpassed expectations. Derek growled, and seized Stiles’s chin, but he didn’t say anything, not seeming like he expected an answer. Stiles stared up at him, the red slowly drowning in cyan. “You don’t know,” Derek supplied. “You’re just a treasure. Pure. Unsullied. _Clean_.”

 Derek’s eyes devoured Stiles, and Stiles’s skin felt like he was on fire. Liquid gold, Stiles thought stupidly. That’s how Derek’s gaze made him feeling, as if he was burning from the inside out, and damned if he had _ever_ felt this way.

“Your body is tuned like the wolves’,” Derek said quietly, silken and honey in his voice. “And you want to be bonded. You want to be _mine_ , Stiles.”

Stiles opened his mouth, but he didn’t know what would come out. He was interrupted by slams and the sound of scuffle. Derek snarled again, but he untied Stiles, crooning in his ear, “Be careful, pup. Don’t want a big bad wolf to eat you all up.”

*

A jewel, Derek said, and he meant it. He had meant it ever since he had first seen the boy—when he returned to town. He could wait and _had_ , and now he didn’t have to. The boy had done nothing but scream _mate_ at him, even from afar.

And he could now see, up close, that the boy’s body ached for Derek to claim it, make him his and watch, _savor_ the way would writhe and moan and _beg_ for it. For Derek to shred his purity, but beg Derek to allow himself to be cleansed.

In the new, yellowed light of the hallway, the bruises on his wrist were visible, and Derek was disconcerted (fascinated) to find his wolf growling at the idea that Stiles had been hurt. He turned to Derek and smiled shyly. Derek instinctively pulled Stiles to him, planting a soft kiss to the crown of his head.

He’d be this pliant when Derek was sliding long, thick fingers into him, but he’d be sobbing with want, for _more_ — He stopped. The doorway was open and his pack was inside, watching the McCall pack. It was long time for the Hales to take Beacon Hills back.

Peter was watching calmly, a bruise fading on his cheek, as Boyd and Isaac restrained the wolves, and Erica watched the girls. “I’m fine,” Peter greeted Derek calmly. “Just caught unaware. Stupid mistake.” Derek relaxed. They were fine. They had won.

McCall saw Stiles and began struggling harder. “Stiles!” he yelled, eyes glowing red. “Let him go!”

“He’s with me,” Derek said. “McCall, he’s mine,” and waited for the fallout.

McCall lunged for Stiles, and the two other wolves turned on Boyd and Isaac. Peter was still, but when Derek pushed Stiles to him, he caught him, and guarded. Derek shifted halfway, attacking McCall. They slashed viciously, and Derek felt claws pierce his skin.

But Derek bit him hard on the shoulder, and he went down. The Argent girl screamed, but Erica slammed her head against the wall and she was out too. The two other wolves were restrained, and the ginger Martin girl was still, gaze unflinching.

Stiles was crying. Derek felt a painful twinge, not from his wounds. “Peter,” he said. “Transfer them to the basement cells.” He opened his arms. Stiles ran to him, sobbing, and Derek picked him up, wolf rearing up, furious at those that had made his mate cry. He carried him upstairs into his own rooms. He was appeased, not threatened anymore. He had Stiles, and he could protect him.

Stiles’s tears were drying, and he burrowed himself under the covers of Derek’s bed, after Derek undressed him tenderly, sighing softly as his exhaustion overwhelmed him and he slept. Derek sat, enjoying the scent of _mate_ bleeding into his bed. Soon, he’d claim the boy. Soon, he’d be able to run with Stiles under the moon. He lay his head down and slept as well.

He awoke several times in the night, as if checking to see that the fragile boy, his _mate_ was still there, safe and sound. He was, beautiful, clean, and _perfect_. He dreamt about biting his neck, feeling Stiles come alive under his hands. When he bit the boy, he wouldn’t be his beta. Alpha pairs were the strongest, and it was a wonder as to why McCall hadn’t taken the boy.

He contemplated this while waiting for Stiles to wake. McCall knew he was weaker and he had a mate right there—so why not claim him? But the Argent girl flashed into his mind. McCall loved the dark-haired human, but she wasn’t a mate.

She wasn’t tuned to the beat of the wolves’ drums. Stiles was, but McCall couldn’t do it. And the other two wolves couldn’t take a mate until McCall did, which fucked them all. He couldn’t accept fact as fate, or did so vice versa, even though all mates grew to love each other, and by his research, the two were close.

The Argent girl was a liability. So was her father. Kate, the bitch, was dead. He had made sure McCall had killed her. And Gerard was dying. If the Argent girl died first, Chris would destroy everyone responsible. So the other way. He thought about Stiles, though: _“I’ll behave if you don’t kill them.”_

But if he mentioned it after he had claimed the boy, he doubted that Stiles would beg for her life. Or, if he did… well, that’d be delicious. He wouldn’t mind watching Stiles on his knees, or see how those lips felt wrapped around his cock…

He did pull out his cellphone and texted Peter, sound off to let Stiles rest. _“Chris Argent shall die.”_ He received a reply a moment later: _“Good.”_

_“The cell occupants?”_

_“Had to knock McCall unconscious again. Others subdued.”_

He felt the boy stir against him, soft sighs falling from his lips. Derek had to clench his hands to keep from tugging the boy onto his lap and—

Stiles was shaking. Derek looked at him, hands free of claws now and going to tug him flush against his chest. He was sleeping still: nightmaring, more like. “Ssh,” he murmured into Stiles’s ear. “You’re okay.”

Stiles thrashed for a moment, but he soon went limp. Derek’s phone flashed again. _“Redhead wants to know if you’re currently raping the boy.”_ His own eyes flashed and he viciously stabbed at the phone keys, answering, _“No, you don’t harm your mate,”_ before settling Stiles’s head on his own shoulder, and falling asleep again.

When he awoke, he registered two big eyes staring at him. He jerked back before realizing it was Stiles. “Hi,” Stiles whispered tentatively, and for some reason that made Derek more than certain than ever of claiming him. But that hesitation shouldn’t have been there. One shouldn’t be afraid to address their mate. As soon as Argent was out of the way, he would fully mate with Stiles.

“Hey,” he answered nevertheless, stretching. Amused, he watched as Stiles’s eyes followed his movements, and knew that Stiles’s body was on board with the mating. It was just his mind that he needed to fully convince. “You hungry?”

“Of course,” he answered, rapid-fire. “I’m always hungry. Probably ’cos it takes a lot of keep up on pack runs, y’know?”  He paused. “Can I go see them? Please?”

“If you allow me to accompany you,” Derek said calmly, acting as if he’d deny Stiles anything. (Well, perhaps to see him beg…) He sat up. “We eat first, though. Do eggs sound acceptable?” Stiles nodded, and briefly laced his fingers through Derek’s before bouncing out of bed. He pulled open Derek’s closet, rummaging about before grabbing a shirt and sweats, pulling them on.

Derek watched him hungrily, the shirt enveloping Stiles’s skinny frame. “Come on,” he said gently, grabbing his hand, pulling Stiles down the hallway and into the kitchen. Stiles sat on a chair, watching as Derek pulled eggs out of the old fridge. It was strangely domestic, given last night’s events.

While Derek set to making them breakfast, Stiles spoke, asking first of his betas and if he’d make enough for them—of course not, they could cook their own food.

“Alright. Scott and I have been friends for _ever_ , I swear”—Derek let out a low growl, but the boy continued, a far cry from the soft-spoken boy of last night, which was nice—“and Allison’s been a part of pack since Scott killed the Alpha.”

The Alpha had been her aunt. Kate was bitten by a rogue Alpha—rather ironic given her hatred of wolves and her murder of the largest pack nearby—and become a rogue herself, after murdering it with her last humanity, if she ever had had any. And McCall killed her himself, becoming an Alpha with a pack.

“And he bit Jacks and Danny,” Stiles continued, sounding so _fond_ that it infuriated Derek’s wolf. He slammed down the skillet, and the boy jumped, doing so again when Derek was an inch away from his face.

“You are mine,” he said slowly, eyes red and claws out. He traced one along the sharply protruding cheekbone, and felt pleased when the boy shivered. “Mine. Not Scott’s. Not the others’. Mine. And only mine.”

“Yours,” Stiles said, nearly inaudibly. Derek smirked, pulling him in for a long bruising kiss before he went back to the shove to bring the eggs to the table. Derek didn’t eat, but Stiles did so ravenously. “So what are you expecting if I’m—yours?” he asked, sharply inspecting Derek’s face.

“To be able to claim and mark you anytime, anyway, anywhere. To be the only one in your eyes. And you be my Alpha mate. To be an Alpha pair,” Derek said easily, bracing his chin with one hand and looking at Stiles peacefully. He was content again, and wondered if it was because of Stiles.

“Fine,” Stiles agreed simply. “On two conditions. _I_ am the only one for you. And my pack joins yours.”

“Those that submit,” Derek countered. “And you shall be the only one. But will you take the Bite?” He watched as Stiles’s pupils dilated, imagined them the same as he would fuck into the smaller boy’s body mercilessly, screaming out his pleasure….

“Perhaps,” Stiles countered, dropping the fork onto the plate with a clatter. “What will you do if they don’t submit, Derek?” It was the first time he had addressed Derek by name, and a soft glow spread through Derek’s chest, imagining Stiles sobbing it out as he begged—and begged…

“What I must, pup,” pulling Stiles close for a kiss before leading him toward the basement—and the cells.

*

Derek was possessive and intense, but oh so very _right_ , Stiles admitted to himself. He was right when he kissed him, right when he was looming over him, and righter when he woke next to Derek, watching the mask fall away and leave a vulnerable man sleeping.

“Jacks will submit for my sake,” Stiles assured Derek as they passed—Peter? Was that his name? Derek nodded at the man, who eyed Stiles as one may eye a new pet: fascinated and curious as to what it might do. “Danny and Allison too. They _will_.”

The betas stood outside yet another door “McCall has been yelling for the kid,” the dark-skinned man said quietly. His eyes—and Stiles’s too—widened when Derek suddenly had him against the wall, Alpha showing, and growling.

“He is your Alpha’s mate and you will call him by name with with the proper _respect_ ,” he snarled. The blond girl was watching with big eyes, the curly-headed one unconcerned. Abruptly, he released the man, going back to Stiles and smiling pleasantly. “This is Boyd, Erica, and Isaac,” he said, nodding to each in turn.

Stiles said softly, but with the right meaning—he hoped—“Hi. I’m Stiles.” Boyd gingerly stuck out his hand, and Stiles shook it. Erica hugged him briefly, ignoring Derek’s growls, and Isaac gave a shy smile. He then walked through the door, to the cells, and Scott was out front.

“Stiles! You get out okay? How did you kill him? Can you—oh,” he ended, seeing Derek. “Hale. What have you done to him? Come to barter with me for his life? What do you want?”

“Scott,” Stiles interrupted. “Listen, _please_. I’m fine. Well, not hungry, because Derek made me eggs, and I’m not tired. Our options here are limited, okay?” Scott growled. “So our _best_ one is for you all to submit. Please. We’ll have one pack.”

Danny said, moving towards the front of the cell, “You’ll be half of an Alpha pair, Stiles. Scott would lose the higher Alpha rank.” He looked at Derek. “But he seems, for all his exterior, to be honest towards you. Do you, Alpha Hale, have good intentions towards my pack-mate?”

Stiles turned back to Derek. He looked protective, but amused. “I have only the best for my mate,” he confirmed, eyebrows knitting together.

Scott growled at Derek. “Stop talking about him like you _own_ him! Stiles is his own person and if you try and change that you’ll pay.” He looked at Stiles solemnly, unnerving in his usually cheerful face. “I don’t know on the choices you’re making, Stiles, but I’ll support you.” He knelt down, baring his throat. Allison and Danny did so as well, Allison glowering and Danny watching closely.

Derek looked to Jackson. “If you hurt him,” Jackson threatened, “I will _end_ you.” Then he sank to his knees, neck exposed, leaving Lydia.

“You all are cowards,” she spat. “If you could get through your thick skull that Allison isn’t your mate, nor anyone’s mate, we could have _crushed_ them, and yet you kept your head stuck in your ass,” she snarled, backing towards the corner. Scott looked furious, for Stiles and—hopefully—out of respect for his new Alpha.

“He’s not mine,” Scott said, eyeing Derek warily. “Stiles could have never been mine.”

Derek finally spoke. “Lydia Martin, will you submit?” he asked, opening the cell door. He looked to Stiles. “Bring them to Peter, Stiles. I’ll return, soon.” He walked towards Lydia, and every single one of them wanted to help her, but under the lull of their new Alpha and their own, they resisted, closing the thick door behind them.

Stiles did. “I see,” Peter said. “Betas. Meet your new pack.” Boyd, Isaac, and Erica stared as a shrill scream broke the air.

“He—he killed her,” Allison said, eyes going wide. Scott touched her arm, and she jerked back. Her gaze locked on Stiles. “Your _mate_ killed my best friend.” She turned to face the betas, all three growling. “Why did you let her die, Stiles?”

Stiles stared at the door, not answering until it opened and Derek emerged. He saw Allison staring at Stiles, and his eyes grew angrier, less stony, and pulled Stiles to his chest. “Argent, I offered her one last chance. She preferred to die. If you threaten to harm my mate, you will do the same.”

Scott was staring at the floor, his eyes dull. “Allison,” he murmured. “Stop. She made her choice.” He gazed at Stiles now, and continued, “She was stubborn, but may we bury her properly as she deserved? As a member of the Beacon Hills pack?” At Derek’s nod, the pack as one—Stiles himself included, breaking Derek’s grip with an apologetic, brittle smile—moved to her body.

“Remember,” Derek said into his ear, catching his wrist. “You’re mine.”

When Stiles saw her, he gasped. Lydia’s beautiful green eyes were empty, throat a bloody mess. After gathering her body, Derek led them out back, procuring shovels for them, and nudging Stiles before retreating back into the house, but he caught sight of red in the window.

Danny touched her forehead. “Lydia Jean Martin, you were the epitome of feminism and beauty, and you never back down. Even when you’d have been better off. Sleep well, princess.” He closed her blank eyes, and let Jackson take his place.

“I loved you as a child, and you became my sister. One of my best friends. No one else could make me go shopping. And carry her bags. Lydia, you’re too fucking stubborn. Goodnight anyways, Lyds. Love ya.”

Scott moved forwards. “I was in love, Lydia, with someone I wanted to be my forever. You always told it like it is, and Allison _isn’t_. I’m sorry. Lydia, Stiles is going to be a mate and I don’t want anyone else to die. Don’t you trust Stiles? But… goodnight my wolf.” He blinked, and Stiles moved for him, hugging him hard.

“Scotty, it’s not your fault,” he murmured into his ear. Scott loved deep and fierce, and this hurt him. More than one would think—Lydia’s death and having to give Allison up. At Scott’s nod, he moved away, to Lydia.

“Lyds, babe. I’m sorry you didn’t trust me or my mate enough. I wouldn’t have let the McCall pack dissipate. Scott’s still an Alpha, Derek just ranks higher. A pack within a pack, Lyds, and I wanted you to be in it. Lyds, I’ll miss you.”

Allison walked to Lydia, sniffling loudly. “Lydia, I will avenge your senseless death. I promise, Lydia. I’m sorry those you trusted to help you failed.” She glared at Scott—who had, effectively, just broken up with her—and Stiles.

“I’ll make sure Hale knows who he killed.” Stiles felt his blood run cold, staring at her. “I am not a member of the Hale pack, nor the McCall pack. I am not affiliated with wolves in any way, shape, or form!” She spat at Stiles’s feet, and ran, leaving Lydia’s body. Silence.

None spoke until the last shovel hit the ground. “Did I kill her, Stiles?” Scott asked, voice scarcely a whisper. “Did I kill Lydia?”

“No!” Stiles exclaimed, and grabbed his shoulders. “None of us did.” He shook Scott, and repeated, “None of us. Lydia made her choice. But we need to go inside. Derek’s feeling anxious, probably.”

When they reached the door, it swung open and Stiles was grabbed in a fierce embrace, a soft apology in his ear, and Derek kissed him hard, as if all the answers would be there. “Hi,” Stiles said when he was released. “Why don’t we have a sing-along and get to know each other?” He laughed when Jackson kicked him, but Derek growled. “Oh, I guess you want submission first, huh, big guy?”

*

Stiles liked surrounded by people. He liked easy banter and idle threats made him laugh. Danny and he were close companions, Jackson and he good friends, Scott and him the best. It was taking Derek all he had not to roar, “Mine,” but Stiles was in his lap as he spoke, unthinkingly proclaiming Derek’s claim.

Stiles was in his element when he was leaning against Derek’s chest and hazarding the questions Boyd, Erica and Isaac asked, a few hours later. Jackson and Danny were sitting at Derek’s feet, speaking to the betas easily.

Peter was out, tracking Chris Argent and his daughter. Stiles had explained what had conspired, and Derek was furious at the disrespect. At least McCall—Scott—had gotten his head out of his ass and dumped her.

“Your family, Stiles?” Isaac asked, and Stiles was immediately flooded with sadness and anger. Derek opened his mouth, but—

“My mother Stella died when I was eight. From breast cancer. And my father was killed by Kate when I was sixteen. To tell Scott to back off.” He sighed. “He was the Sheriff and my only family. Pack’s my family now.”

Derek squeezed him gently, feeling sated, but he knew it was the calm before the storm: Argent had to die before he came for the pack. “McCall? Mahealani? Whittemore? You have family?” he queried. Jackson shook his head, face devoid of sadness. Danny started to nod, but froze and shook his head minutely.

Scott followed soon after, but his scent was bathed in sorrow. Already Derek felt stirrings of protection for his pack. His mate—beautiful Stiles—would always come first, though. That’s what mate meant.

Peter arrived. “Argent didn’t hear me. However, I cannot say the same. I heard him and his kid talking about Redhead’s death as if it meant something—”

Stiles was up in a heartbeat, Scott, Danny, and Jackson following close behind. “It did!” Stiles shouted, grappling at Peter. “It did matter! We just understand why! Lydia was my pack!” Peter caught Stiles, and Stiles glared up into Peter’s face.

Peter gazed at Stiles—surprised—then smiled slowly, turning to look at Derek. “He’s a spitfire,” he said approvingly. “Anyhow—Redhead was mourned deeply by them and then Argent called for the Hale Pack’s death. We need to hurry. I think they called in hunters.” Stiles jolted, paling, and Peter took his shoulders. “Have you been injured by hunters before, little spitfire?”

Derek stood, listening for Stiles’s answer. It didn’t come from him. “He was attacked by Gerard Argent a while ago. Beaten. As another message to me. He disrupted Stiles’s scent, with a wolfsbane strain,” Scott said guiltily. “Stiles got out.”

Derek hauled Stiles to him, kissing the shivering temple. “I’ll kill them all,” he promised, and the betas—all of them—growled in agreement. Stiles slumped down on the couch, and Isaac crawled up to give him the comfort of touch.

Jackson clambered onto his other side, looking all the world like a worried child. Derek wanted as Danny, Scott, Boyd, and Erica followed, leaned down and planted yet another kiss on Stiles’s forehead, before leading Peter into the kitchen.

“And?”

“Argent’s kid was crying about McCall, but Chris brought up her mother. _That_ made her change her mind awfully quick. Evidently Mrs. Argent was killed because of Scott McCall. Which. Good job. Victoria Argent was a menace.” He shrugged. “I can go and search again, about the hunters.”

Derek blinked, saw Stiles shaking, and he wanted to tear them all limb from limb for injuring his mate. Knowing that his mate had been hurt before increased the churning of his stomach, aching for claim his mate so _everyone_ knew Stiles was his and no one could hurt him.

“I want them dead,” Derek admitted. “Just not yet. Peter, go and rest. Thank you.” He watched as Peter climbed the stairs to his room, and peeked back in on the rest of the pack. They were all asleep, sprawled near Stiles, who was sitting up and looking at Derek. “Hey,” Derek said. “What are you doing awake?”

Stiles stood, carefully making his way to Derek and putting his arms around his neck. “I couldn’t sleep,” he said into the warm skin of his throat, “without you.” He giggled when Derek lifted him up and carried him up the stairs.

“My own personal wolfy man,” he said gleefully. He blinked at the walls when Derek deposited him on the bed. “Now I’m wide awake!”

“Oh?” Derek answered. He leapt gracefully into bed, tugging Stiles atop of his chest. “What are you proposing then, little mate?” he asked teasingly, running a thumb across Stiles’s full lips.

Stiles didn’t answer, just batted Derek’s hands away and sealed his lips to Derek’s. Derek felt how warm his body suddenly was, feeling his mate on him. His wolf pranced, wanting to bite his mate and claim and _take._

He said into Stiles’s mouth, “Can—can I—”

He couldn’t finish, just clutched Stiles closed, feeling hot barbs of _want_ surge along his body, letting Stiles do just as he wanted, nipping at Derek’s lower lip and lapping at the indent he left.

“Yes,” Stiles breathed. “Do it.” He slid a leg between Derek’s own, effectively slotting himself to gently rock against Derek’s thigh. He felt Stiles’s hard-on through his boxers and groaned as he felt his mate move faster, sometimes bumping against Derek’s own erection.

“Derek,” Stiles panted. _“Do it._ Make me yours. Please, Derek, do it.”

Derek let himself go to his wolf, swiftly turning over to pin him down, moving to latch onto Stiles’s neck. At Stiles’s words, he allowed his fangs to elongate and _bite_. Stiles screamed, muffled in his arm, and Derek knew it was more from pleasure than pain.

“Open your eyes,” he managed to growl, and saw Stiles’s eyes glow a sharp violet-red—the violet signaling him a mate, the red as an Alpha’s mate as well. He slowly opened his mouth to show sharp canines.

“Beautiful,” Derek snarled, shredding his boxers and his own from reckless claws as he seized Stiles’s hips and slammed his own, cock against Stiles’s ass, the friction nearly choking him.

“Der—Derek,” Stiles moaned out, voice heavy. He reached down, wrapping his hand around his glistening cock and tugging. He whimpered.

“So fucking beautiful,” he ground out, eyes trained on Stiles’s hand. “Yeah, _fuck_ , Stiles, I want to fuck you, feel you clench around me when you come, beautiful and so goddamn _tight_.”

He felt his orgasm grow in the pit of his own stomach, but couldn’t stop the words egging them both on. “I’ll fuck you so good, fill you up just like you should be, always, full of me and my come, full of pups for me, for _us_ —”

He roared as he came, come splattering against Stiles’s ass.

“Derek!” Stiles wailed, coming as well. His come hit his stomach, white against the shadowed canvas of flesh.

Derek leaned down to slowly lap it all up, swallowing with relish. His senses were dominated by Stiles— _mate—_ only. He surged back up to kiss Stiles, murmuring in his ear, “The next time, I’ll fuck you, pretty little mate, my wolf.”

“You’d better,” came the sleep answer, and Derek smiled. The only thought that gave him pause was his curiosity to see how the pack—and Argent—reacted.

*

Scott was furious. He made a line for Stiles when Derek and he got out of the shower. “Why would you bite him?” he yelled. “Being human was his one protection! Chris can’t kill him if he’s human! The Code! Goddammit Derek!” He put his hands on Stiles’s shoulders, and Stiles grinned toothily, secure with his new place, his pack, his mate, and allowed his eyes to run purple.

“Scotty, boy,” he soothed. “Our pack is fine. _I’m_ fine. If we strike soon, the hunters won’t be able to stop us.” He paused, glanced at Derek. “Soon. A few days. They might expect it, but they won’t expect _us._ ”

The new mix of an Alpha’s mate and being an Alpha _pair_ running through his veins elated him, and his faults were now useful. He babbled _attentively_ and he was graceful, nimble, where he had been clumsy and careless. It was better, and he thought it suited him.

Derek spent two days training Stiles personally which would usually end up in blowjobs or handjobs, but no matter how much Stiles whined for it, Derek would just lean in and croon, “Later, babe.”

Peter went on recon often with Boyd, both returning sweat-drenched and panting. Four days later, the entire pack was tense with waiting.

 _“Scott,”_ Erica yowled, emerging red-faced from the shower. “Did you use up all of my fucking shampoo? _Did_ you?” She disappeared, and Stiles watched as a small bottle flew and hit the wall. “It was a fortune! The bottle was nearly full!”

“ _That’s_ why you smelled so good!” Isaac exclaimed, pulled by Scott into the hallway to confront Erica. “I wondered.”

“It was tiny! Of course I used it all!” Scott yelled back, throwing the bottle at Erica. “And where the hell are Jackson and Danny? Shouldn’t they be back with Derek from their fucking run?!” He stalked down the stairs, and Stiles followed him.

“They’re fine,” Stiles promised. Derek’s heartbeat was closer to home. He continued, “Jacks and Danny are with him, don’t—”

He was struck by an abrupt, vicious pain, and he _knew_. Scott touched him, and he streaked to the door, opening it and yelling, “Derek! Derek!” into the rainy gloom. He shifted and ran, looking for the source of the pain when he fell, pulled down by a hand around his wrist.

“Ssh,” Jackson said into his ear. “Danny is helping Derek get back to the house. I had to distract them.” Stiles mouthed, _hunters?_ And Jackson nodded. “Allison shot Derek, but she didn’t know it was him. It was a blind shot, so I told Danny to yell, ‘Run, Derek!’ and help Derek. So they’re fine.” His voice was barely audible, blue eyes flashing.

“Are you hurt?” Stiles queried, shivering even as he relaxed, heart pounding out a rhythm of _Derek is safe Derek is safe_. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Jackson agreed. “I’m fine.” They stilled at the sound of feet nearby.

“I heard them!” Allison. “I heard the goddamned Alpha and his mate!” Stiles blinked at the derision in her voice. That wasn’t Allison, his Disney princess, speaking. It was a twisted girl, who was looking for something to take revenge on. There was a whistle, and a thud right near them. “Come _out_ , Hale!”

“Jackson,” Stiles said desperately, knowing she _would_ find one of them. “Back to the hose. Hurry. We don’t have much time—” Another arrow, and he had to fall silent, but Jackson shook his head vehemently. They stared at each other, angry and proud for the other, until Allison found them.

“Well if it isn’t our dear little toy and his pup! Dad! I’ve found them!” She glared vicious, her curls drawn back tightly. Stiles hadn’t seen her this violently lost since Victoria had died.

“Look at you,” she spit, pointing her glinting crossbow at Stiles. “Look at what you’ve come to. Looks like Hale doesn’t care about you after all. Left you and him for dead, huh? Looks like Lydia didn’t need to die.”

“She chose,” Stiles said quietly, waiting as her pupils dilated. “I wanted Lydia to live. You can choose, too, Allison. Don’t do this.”

“Lydia chose, so I’ll do the same,” she said flatly, before raising her crossbow and whacking Stiles solidly on the head, and it all wen black.

When he awoke, he was tied to a wall. Fucking _again._ The wall was a difference though—not a chair. He looked wildly around and saw Jackson a few feet away. “Jacks,” he said, trying to wake him up quietly, but Jackson didn’t stir. “Jackson, wake _up._ Please. We’ve got to get out of here.”

“I doubt it. Chloroform shall keep him asleep for as long as this takes,” Chris Argent said casually, stepping into the dim light. “Our talk.” He stretched luxuriously, waiting for Stiles to do something. Stiles didn’t move. “About Derek Hale. Your ‘mate’.”

“That he is,” Stiles agreed, realizing that _they_ didn’t realize he was a wolf. That was a distinct advantage for Jackson and him. He tried exude calm for Jackson, unconsciously, and Derek, subconsciously, if he was worried. (Who was he kidding? Derek was probably _frantic._ ) “And Allison is your daughter.”

“Indeed,” Chris agreed. “And Lydia was her best friend.” He stared at Stiles, eyes narrowed into slits. “So here’s the dilemma. Derek is a reckless Alpha was no hesitation to harm humans. He has already done so. He will again. Conclusion: Derek Hale must die.” He shrugged. “You’re not his full mate. You’ll find another. Maybe McCall, since he’s so keen on picking _you_ over my daughter.”

He turned, striding into a secluded hallway before a door clanged securely shut. Stiles paused for a beat before doing as he always did—tugging on his bindings. They were rope, easily shreddable. When the time came.

“Jackson,” he said again. “ _Please_ wake up.” When Jackson still stayed unmoving, chained against the wall, he felt himself begin to panic, recalling a late night search on chloroform. The right dose was able to off a man. (Same for a wolf?) _“Jackson!”_

Finally the beta lifted his head. “Stiles?” he mumbled, reaching out blindly before the metal—of course they’d use metal on a known wolf—clanked and he was jerked to a halt. “Stiles? Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” He partially shifted, a growl rising from his throat.

“I’m fine,” he said comfortingly, and Jackson relaxed slightly. “Thank god for this shitty light. If they see I don’t have a bruise—” He didn’t finish, went on to the _next_ problem. “My only advantage is that I can tear the ropes when I need to.”

The door creaked, and they both paused in their conversation. “You’ve been unconscious four hours, Stiles,” Allison called down quietly and calmly. “Please remember it’s your _Alpha_ I want to kill, not you. If you behave, nothing will happen to the others.”

 There was no blip signaling a lie. The door hit the wall, and light filtered into the room brokenly before it was slammed shut. A-fucking-gain.

“You must be hungry,” she said, completely ignoring Jackson. She held a small sandwich. “Open,” and the _kindness_ in her voice startled him.

“You poison it?” he said, sniffing overdramatically to emphasize his supposed humanness. He couldn’t smell poison, regardless.

“Nope. I just think you’ll need food for strength for when Hale dies—and for when Scott claims you,” she said wistfully. “He’ll be a good mate. Powerful with you. And you’ll be a good wolf. You know you’re not fully mated until you’re turned, just so you know.” She gently pulled his jaw open. “Chew. I’m sorry for earlier. I was just reminded of my mother, with Lydia… Just—eat.”

Stiles ate. She nodded, glancing briefly at Jackson. “I’m under orders not to care for your wolf. Power in numbers. It’s late. You should sleep.” With that firm suggestion, she left as quietly as she had come, and they were once more alone.

“Sleep, Stiles,” Jackson said gently. “I’ll keep guard.”

Stiles wanted to protest, but it was the first time since mating he was away from his mate, and bound in ropes. He felt the toll keenly, and so, under Jackson’s watchful eye, he slept.

*

Derek awoke feeling groggy and disoriented, pain lurking thinly at the corner of his brain. “Derek!” Isaac wailed, and he shouted, “Derek’s awake!” Derek watched his pup, suddenly anxious. Where was Stiles? “Derek, I’m so _glad_ you’re awake!”

“Stiles,” he groaned. Isaac turned pale as his pack filed in, Peter skulking behind. That was never good. Peter always had a job to do or someone to harass. Last time he had been doing that was before he informed Derek that Stiles Stilinski belonged to McCall’s pack. _Stiles_. “Peter, where is Stiles?” Peter looked to the side, clenching his jaw. _“Peter_ , tell me. What happened for the love of god?”

“You were out running with Jackson and me,” Danny said quietly. “We heard Allison. Too late. You were shot. Jackson took off, to give me time to get you home safe. Stiles felt your pain, took off running for you—Scott couldn’t catch him. Our best guess is that they were both caught.” Danny paused. Scott growled lowly, and it connected with Derek.

Stiles. Argents. Captive. Or dead.

Derek roared, trying to lurch out the door to find his mate— _his_ Stiles. “I’ll kill them all,” he snarled, and Peter touched his shoulder, stilling him.

“You’ve healed enough, nephew. I know where they’re being held, and we’ll have the element of surprise. The full moon is soon. We’ll have the element of surprise, force, and speed. We’ll do fine, Derek.” Peter made his way to the door frame. “Let’s stock up. It’s been a long time coming for Chris Argent and touching a Hale mate didn’t do a thing but speed it up.”

Derek nodded.

His uncle had a few surprised. “Coat your claws in this,” he said happily, “and your victim is paralyzed. I got this in a raid—remember Derek, you and Laura were teens, and you wanted to come—on the Argent warehouse Katherine Argent held before losing her mind. Kanima venom. Potent and non-lethal. We can use enough to permanently paralyze, but I think they’ll have a rather _merciful_ death before that happens.”

“More excruciatingly painful, less merciful,” Erica countered, thirst for blood in her eyes. Derek wanted to rip them all apart, and it was likely affecting his pack. He could feel his control fraying, _desperate_ to get Stiles back where he belonged.

“Go. Kill them. Get Jackson. I’ll get Stiles. Kill Chris and the kid. Now,” he ordered, and when his pack began to move, shifting, he let himself fully shift into his Alpha wolf, control gone, just a hot mass of _rage_ and _need_. If they were out for blood, they would get blood.

As he ran, the thrum of pain got noisier in his head, and he was reduced down to a frantic heartbeat of _matematemate_. He wanted to kill those that held his mate and take his mate back to where he belonged, claim him and keep him where he was Derek’s only and _safe._

Soon he was out of the woods, pack behind, and running towards the deathtrap he had been lucky to escape from once. Because of his mate. He hit lonely backstreets, towards Argent’s now-supposedly-empty warehouse, nose perked for Stiles. The scent should have been stronger, but there was nothing. Not a trace. He could tell Stiles was still breathing, because of the pain, but there was nothing else.

He thought to roar his mate’s name, but he knew it was an idiot move, and Stiles would likely end up paying for it.

When he could smell Argents he paused, and with difficulty, shifted back. He waited for the pack to catch up. “Erica, Isaac, Boyd, take the entrance. Scott, Danny, and Peter, take the back. I’ll get in another way.”

They all nodded silently, springing into action. They vanished into the dark surrounding the house, and when he heard shouts, he slipped into the door he _knew_ was there. Laura had shown him, when she was lovesick-stupid about Kate Argent, telling him this was where she met her mate.

The light was dim, but he heard fighting, hopefully meaning that his pack was winning, and saw a flash of dark curls, trying to follow it, but a man slammed into his side. It wasn’t Chris Argent, just a damn hunter.

“Mutt,” the man spat. “Turning an unwilling human into a _mate_.” This, for the first time, sent of frisson of fear rocketing through him. They knew about about Stiles. They know being close to him would invigorate Derek and—

He couldn’t think about it. The man attacking Derek was reaching for his gun, and Derek forewent rules about harming humans— _they_ harmed _Stiles_ —to lunge, claws cutting through the flesh of his throat easily, a comical look on his face before blood spurted. He fell. “You don’t threaten an Alpha pair,” he snarled, and howled, head tipping back. There were six answering, but two were missing. Stiles and Jackson.

He tried towards where he thought Argent’s brat had gone, but he guessed a few days _had_ been enough for more hunters to arrive for he was set upon by them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Scott making his way towards Derek. “Brothers,” Scott grunted, and quickly tore a man’s throat out, wincing as a bullet hit his arm. Derek continued fighting, but managed to convey concern for the boy. “Idiots. Not a wolfsbane bullet. I’ll heal.”

They fought until they heard Peter shout, “Erica!” followed by Boyd’s incomprehensible roar.  Derek and Scott glanced at each other, nodding, stricken. Scott said, “ _Go_ ,” before running to the betas. Derek flew down stairs, trying to find where to go, to find Stiles. There was an undertone of panic through the bond, but Derek mirrored it, for upstairs, guns still sounded loudly and without pause.

“Don’t touch him!”

Derek jolted, _but that was Stiles’s voice._ He was near, and well enough to shout. An electrical noise reached Derek’s ears, and he heard _Jackson_ whine. “Goddammit it, I’ll kill you!”

But even as Derek ran through the house, hoping for a secret game of “Marco-Polo” to save his pack (his mate), Stiles fell silent. The electric hum filled his ears, but he couldn’t find the source. Shouts filtered from upstairs, but Derek only wanted to hear one person.

Perhaps by some miracle or stroke of luck, he stumbled upon a heavy metal door. He tried to push it open, and it held, but there was some give. He shoved it hard, and it finally crunched, swinging to let him through, to _Stiles._ He ran through a narrow hallway, and when he hit light, he wanted to remain in the dark.

Stiles was strung up against the wall, cuts littering his body. Jackson was hooked to a machine, smoke drifting upwards from it. Allison Argent was near Jackson, and Chris Argent was holding a knife.

Holding a knife.

To Stiles.

“Derek,” Stiles gasped, seeing him, and began to cough, blood trickling out of his mouth as he did and eyes flashing uncontrollably. “Get Jack-Jackson, and _go._ The ch-chains are wolfsbane, I-I can’t g-go anywhere…”

Chris Argent turned, and Derek had a second of the most blinding rage in his life before he attacked. Argent didn’t have time to react; Derek wanted to make him suffer, but he had to help his mate and his pup. As Argent moved towards him, Derek swiftly took his throat from him, copper filling the air, and was moving towards Allison, seizing her—

“Derek, no!” Stiles screamed hoarsely. “Please, just get Jackson and _go!”_ He tried clanging the chains, but he couldn’t. Allison was scrabbling at his hands. He squeezed, and her eyes fluttered shut, sinking to the ground. She wasn’t dead, but out of the way.

Derek moved to Stiles, who was by now, unconscious as well. He took a breath, plunging his claws around the chains and pulling them off of Stiles—arms, then legs. He saw how injured his mate was, how frail and how he was barely breathing, and he wanted to scream. But with the chains gone he could begin to heal, and contact with his Alpha and mate would help. He cradled Stiles, and moved towards Jackson.

“Jackson, listen,” he commanded. “Open your eyes and _heal_. Just heal, okay?”

Jackson gained consciousness in increments, and complied shakily. He managed to bring the manacles holding him in place. “Stiles,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry, Derek. I tried, I really did, but Argent came for me and Stiles ripped the ropes. He placed himself in the crossfire. Is he going to be okay?”

“’A cour’ Ah will,” Stiles slurred. Derek looked down, heart in his throat, but Stiles was gone again. He had to reign in his wolf. His mate was gravely wounded and he could do _nothing_. Abruptly, he felt a hard twinge of pain, not from his mate, and he froze.

 _“Erica!”_ He shifted Stiles, and ran as quickly as he could. Jackson followed, but when he made it to his pack—the house a silent, blood-spattered grave—Isaac shook his head from where he held her limp hand. He stared, and Stiles stirred, but he only registered it when Stiles began sobbing.

*

 _Stiles is running, searching for his pack. A hulking shape leaps in front of him: Kate Argent. She shifts jerkily into a human, crazed and shaking. “Stiles,” she grinned, eyes wild and golden hair matted. “I_ killed _him. Them. Your dear daddy, Scotty boy, Derek. Wait—_ you _killed them.” Her skin seems to gleam, and her features slid under her skin as her hair flushed and her skin paled. Lydia. “And you killed me…,” before she lunges, sinking her teeth into his throat._

*

He awoke screaming. Derek crushed him to his chest, repeating, “I’m here, I’m here,” over and over. “Stiles, wake _up_! You’re safe, you are safe!”

“I killed her!” he wailed. “I killed Lydia, and Erica, and my _father_!” It was hard to breathe; he wanted to make Derek _understand_ what he had done. But Derek didn’t give him the chance. He carefully—contradictorily brisk—shifted Stiles so Derek held him down, securing him and steadying him. He tried to breathe calmly, and feeling Derek anchor him, he managed weakly.

“You didn’t kill them,” Derek promised softly, lacing his fingers through Stiles’s and squeezing. “Our pack is okay, Stiles. We’ll be okay, I promise.”

“What did you do to Allison?” Stiles asked finally, wincing. He healed mostly—if the lack of pain was any indication—but residual soreness remained. “Is Jackson still okay? Danny, Scott, Isaac, Boyd? Peter? Are any of them hurt? Are _you_?”

“Minor injuries healed, even Jackson,” Derek soothed, and Stiles watched him to check if he was okay—emotionally. Death of a pack member affected everyone, not in the least the Alpha. “I’m fine, pup. I promise. We buried Erica. And they returned with me. Isaac was really worried, Stiles. He’ll be glad you’re okay. The rest too.”

“We’re okay, aren’t we?” Stiles asked. “We’ll be alright?”

“I promise we’ll be alright,” Derek answered, and Stiles curled up against him and felt the safety of his mate so close and _okay_. When he awoke, his pack was upon him, and Derek still held his hand.

*

**Epilogue (of Sorts)**

Six years later, Stiles cups a hand under the subtle swell of his stomach, smiling as he strides out towards the sound of playful banter. “Der!” he calls, and he feels the pounce of his mate landing beside him, _his_ hand cupping Stiles’s stomach. “I wanted to join you all,” he pouts, pushing out his lower lip. “I’m not sick or anything.”

“Remember our pups,” Derek says into the crook of his neck. “But c’mon, babe. Jackson was regaling us with a tale of when you were a kid, as a matter of fact, while we wait for Scott and Isaac to get home.”

The two—now inseparable—has been off in the city, a mild drive from their home, to speak to the city’s Alpha about the announcement that the Hale mate was expecting. “Oh no,” Stiles groans, and yelps as Derek sweeps him up and carries him to where his pack waits.

Jackson grins cockily as he continues, “—and Lydia convinced me to invite the poor sucker, but I was an ass, and was bitching about it. And Stiles shows up in a motherfucking trenchcoat. It was hilarious. Only Danny knew what he was.”

“Shut up, Jacks,” Danny smiles, squeezing Jackson’s hand. “You know who he is too.”

“I didn’t _then,_ ” Jackson protests. “And Danny rescued him, and spent the evening being the best wingman ever for Stiles. Except Stiles wasn’t explicitly _enthusiastic_ about getting some. Not from the feminine population.”

Boyd’s laughing hard, and as Derek sets Stiles gently on the ground, arm moving instead to brace him around his waist, Stiles flashes his eyes good-naturedly. “You were Wolverine, Jackson. Minus ten points for unoriginality, and minus three hundred for unintentional irony. Jesus.” He sits down, and throws a glance into the forest. “Peter still out trailing after that woman?”

“Nope,” Boyd says gleefully. “She called him crazy and a stalker and now he’s licking his wounds somewhere.”

“Lies are unappealing, Vernon,” Peter interjects, and Boyd whirls around to find him smirking. “I found Miss Peterson a little vapid after spending a few minutes in her presence. Reminds me too much of dear Jackson.”

“Shut it, Peter,” Jackson glowers, and Derek rolls his eyes, pulling Stiles a little closer.

“Oh yeah, Scott texted while Isaac was driving. They’ll be home soon,” Stiles shrugs. “Soon is relative. Hey, can we have s’mores tonight? I really want roasted marshmallows, and chocolate goes without saying.”

“Cravings,” Jackson mock-whispers, and Derek thumps his head.

“Your Alpha mate is craving whatever the hell he wants to, and he’ll get it because—”

“—he’s expecting,” the entire pack finishes, with the new addition of Scott and Isaac from nowhere. Stiles leaps up to hug his returning two pups, both of them overly gentle.

“Ugh you two,” Stiles sighs dramatically. “I’m not sick or anything, just pregnant. Jeez. I can take a hug.”

“Derek gives you enough ‘hugs’ already,” Isaac replies cheekily, and Stiles flushes promptly.

“Let’s get inside and get dinner ready,” Derek interrupts, standing and moving to walk beside Stiles back to the house. As they do, Derek leans over and murmurs, “And I’m giving you a ‘hug’ tonight, pup.”

Stiles’s ears decide to entertain him with the roar of the ocean, and oh no he _did not._ Derek is laughing at him, eyebrows quirked. Stiles really can’t be blamed for leaping at Derek, who allows himself to tumble back onto the ground, but contorts fluidly to allow Stiles a safe landing.

Stiles sticks his tongue out at Derek, and really, _Derek_ can’t be blamed for taking that as a challenge and kissing him with his hand on Stiles’s stomach as the pack watches in shades of exasperation and horror.

“Love you,” Stiles says into Derek’s mouth, and Derek growls back the sentiment, vibrations rumbling through Stiles. “Oh come _on,_ Der, we can’t right now.”

“Spoilsport,” Derek grumbles, and Stiles bites back a grin. His mate, _honestly_.

**Author's Note:**

> Dub con is because even though Stiles and Derek are mates, Stiles is still a little... I dunno. He was tied up because he went to negotiate with a hostile pack. Although there is no bad, bad violent touch, if the mates trope or the uncertain aspect of it bothers you, I'm sorry, darling. Like, mega-sorry.
> 
> Oh yeah, so Stiles and Derek don't die because I CAN'T DO THAT. (I'm sorry for killing off like almost all of the women, though. Jesus, what was I thinking.) 
> 
> Anyhow, I really like the AU. 'm curious as to how I thought of Laura being the one who brought the Hale pack down. Did I kill her off? Is Laura gone? We just don't know, do we?
> 
> (We know she's not the Alpha and never was, so she's either younger or dead. That narrows things down.)
> 
> Comments are love, kudos are great, all that jive. Feel free to ask me about any part of the spotty backstory or the story itself, or what you wish to be elaborated upon. I know I left a lot of blanks.


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